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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24937093">The Vigil has None to Spare</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rossamund/pseuds/Rossamund'>Rossamund</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Daedric Artifacts (Elder Scrolls), Daedric Princes (Elder Scrolls), Dark, Gen, High Rock (Elder Scrolls), Implied/Referenced Torture, Just before the events of Skyrim, Male-Female Friendship, Mentor/Protégé, Minor Canonical Character(s), Undead, Violence, intersection of religion and politics, rivenspire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:09:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,841</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24937093</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rossamund/pseuds/Rossamund</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Vigilant of Stendarr in High Rock is captured while looking into local rumors about a particularly violent cult of Namira in the area around Shornhelm, and is forced to confront his own beliefs when his only ally is the sort of person he would ordinarily be tasked with hunting down and bringing to justice. Set just before the events of Skyrim, but is otherwise mostly unconnected except for some appearances by minor characters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Vigil has None to Spare</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The start of what I hope to make into a longer work, any and all criticism/advice welcome!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Note on Chapter One: I've revised what had been two pieces into one chapter, and changed some portions of the second part of the chapter for clarity. The next chapter of the work will hopefully be finished soon, hope you enjoy!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Rossamund</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.......................................................</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darian awoke with a start, to a sharp ache in his side and the sound of rushing water. Above him daylight was filtering through small openings in the cave ceiling, the largest of which was barely large enough to put a hand through.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, it appears my company has awoken, and not a moment too soon. We’re about to be granted the luxury of a stale loaf of bread, and I certainly can’t finish it myself.” Derian sat up with a start at the sound of a slightly gravely, feminine voice coming from the other side of the small cavern he found himself in. Across the room was a beautiful, if remarkably disheveled, young woman dressed in a ragged shirt and trousers made of sackcloth. “Though with how long you’ve been asleep I imagine you could.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… what? How long was I out?” Darian asked as he rubbed his eyes, frantically trying to adjust to the gloom of the cavern. The woman ran her hands through her medium-length, pitch black hair, seemingly lost in thought for a moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps a day. Maybe a bit longer? It’s quite hard to tell how time passes in here, beyond whether it’s day or night. I believe you were in here unconscious only shortly before I was moved to this cell, which would have been yesterday,” Darian haphazardly attempted to stand as she spoke. As he did so, the pain in his side flared again, and he clutched at his lower abdomen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“By the divines, that’s not good... do you know where we are? Where have they taken us?” Darian mumbled as he pulled up the front of his jerkin, revealing a shallow cut along his lower left side. He grimaced, placing his hand along the mark. A familiar warm, golden light flowed faintly from his fingertips as the wound began to knit itself closed along the surface. The magic was weak however, and he felt a sharp pain in his head as his restoration spell failed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I believe we’re a few days' ride southwest of Shornhelm, though I’m not entirely sure as to the location otherwise. We’re still in Rivenspire however. I’m quite sure of that,” The woman paused briefly, frowning as Darian attempted to heal his wound. “Judging by that spell and your jerkin, you seem to be a Vigilant of Stendarr. What’s your name, priest?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Darian. Darian Estienne. And yes, I’m a Vigilant. I was with an older man, an Imperial. Did you see him when they brought me here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I’ve seen nobody but you and our jailer for the last several days, Vigilant. I suppose I owe you my name in return. You may call me Naeva. I suspect that you and I will be getting to know each other quite well in the coming days, but I would urge you not to become attached. I would be surprised if either of us made it past the end of the week.” Naeva’s expression darkened at this, still watching Darian with a mixture of curiosity and distrust. He gave a slight shudder involuntarily under the intensity of her gaze. It seemed almost as if the young woman’s yellow-green eyes were glowing, still easily visible in the dim light of their cave-turned-cell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean? Why wait to kill us…?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not very good at your job, are you Vigilant? You were captured by a cult of Namira, which I’m sure you know. While I’ve been in these caves for some time, if my general reckoning of how long is accurate, Namira’s summoning day is quite soon. And the mistress of decay does not appear without a fitting sacrifice.” Darian’s face took on a deathlike pallor at this, his mind racing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s worse than we thought. Stendarr preserve us, it’s so much worse than we thought.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>……………………………………………………………………………………………………</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was, as is quite often the case with spring in Rivenspire, pouring rain as two men walked along an empty road some miles south of Shornhelm. Rocky spires bordered the roadway on both sides, as the wind howled past. Though they were cloaked and hooded against the weather, had there been any passerby they would have immediately identified the two men as Vigilants of Stendarr. The mantles of their jerkins alone were quite distinctive, not to mention the silver-studded maces on their hips and amulets of Stendarr around their necks. Both men wore armored boots and gauntlets, their robes belying the sturdy mail which lay underneath. The shorter of the two men, a white-bearded Imperial with a sturdy build, stopped and held up his hand, signalling his companion to stop as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is it this time, Lentus? We can’t keep stopping like this or we won’t make it back to Shornhelm before dusk.” The two men still had a long way to walk, and Darian was in no hurry to spend more time in the rain than was entirely necessary. His older companion snorted derisively.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought your mother was a Nord, Estienne. Figured you would have a bit more tolerance for the cold and wet growing up near Bruma, but I suppose your father’s Breton blood right ruined any chance of that,” The older man chuckled before continuing. “Something’s not right Darian. I can feel it in my bones. We’re being followed.” The younger of the two men shook his head and began walking again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Last time you ‘felt it in your bones’ you had the droops.” Darian gave a wry smile to his older companion, before his expression softened slightly. “You could be right. I haven’t noticed anything, but given the weather it could be easy to miss… if you think we’re being followed we should be on our guard.” Darian turned from his companion and began walking again, and the older vigilant followed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like the feeling of this place. The sooner we can root this out and return to Wayrest the happier I’ll be. Rivenspire is cursed by the divines, mark my words. Why else would a murderous cult of Namira thrive in these parts? I fear Keeper Carenus sent too few of us, lad.” The tone of concern in Lentus’ voice bothered Darian slightly, as it wasn’t common for the veteran witchhunter to express concern like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know that it’s even a cult, my old friend. It’s what, a few disappearances that farmers have reported? We’re in Rivenspire, it could be a rogue vampire or even just a political dispute we know nothing about. The Keeper only thinks it’s a cult because of the shrine that Kulvor found in that basement in Shornhelm,” Darian smiled at his former mentor as the two walked onwards. “Besides, that’s why Carenus sent us. I doubt it’s any worse than that werewolf outside of Cumberland’s watch, at any rate.” Lentus grimaced at this, running his hand over his stomach reflexively. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was bad business all around, lad. Your first month as a full vigilant and you almost had to watch your old mentor nearly dissembowled by some daedric monstrosity disguised as a little girl. Almost three years later and my stomach still feels wrong when I drink too much, though that may just be my age showing.” Lentus smiled slightly at this, his craggy features wrinkling under his sodden hood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two men continued on, into the rain. After about another hour of walking in silence that was largely uncharacteristic of Lentus, the two came upon a ruined cart by the side of the road. Sitting atop it was a masculine figure, cloaked and hooded against the rain. The two Vigilants approached with some caution. While most bandits in northern Tamriel allowed Vigilants to pass unmolested thanks to an understanding that undead and daedra were bad for business, it often paid to be cautious as a traveler. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ho, you there! Do you need some help with your wagon?” Lentus called out to the figure. The man hopped down from the cart, and began walking slowly towards the two Vigilants, head still bent towards the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you injured, traveler? Did something hurt you?” Darian asked as the figure continued walking towards them. Suddenly, a peal of thunder crashed overhead, and the figure was gone. Darian looked around, his right hand drifting to the mace on his hip. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t feel too good about this, lad. That feeling I had, it’s back stronger than ever…” Lentus took up a wide stance with his back to Darians, his mace already in his left hand as golden light shimmered at his fingertips. A bolt of lightning split the sky, the light momentarily blinding both of the Vigilants. When their vision cleared, the robed figure had returned and multiplied, surrounding the two in a circle of such figures. In concert, they raised their heads and doffed their hoods, revealing a sickly grey visage streaked with black bile marks trailing from their eyes and mouths.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Namira’s bile…” whispered Darian. Though he had never seen it before, it was said to be a mark of devotion among those who searched for the dark secrets of the lady of decay. “I think our cultists have found us.” He readied his own mace, the familiar weight of the silver-studded weapon filling his hand. In his other he flexed his fingers before channeling a ward, the silver-blue shield of energy appearing over his open hand. Before he or Lentus could say anything else, one of the cultists raised their fist and began chanting in daedric. The air around the two began to feel heavy, almost rotten in its languor. The robed figures began to close the distance between them and the two vigilants, brandishing wicked-looking daggers and improvised clubs. Time itself seemed to slow with the stagnation of the air, Darian struck out as one of the figures neared him. His mace made contact, but there was no sound, no feeling of splintering bone or the resistance he had expected. Instead, the cultist’s chest cavity, which should have been shattered by the blow, had pushed inward as if the rib cage were absent. The cultist stared at his own ruined torso in awe, his pallid grey skin briefly visible through the rain. Then, there was a sharp pain across Darian’s stomach. He fell, two more robed figures standing over him as the one who had been chanting walked towards him, followed by the stench of decay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. The lady needs them alive. Bring this one back with us. The other as well, if he has not already succumbed.” The other figures nodded, and one gave a brief incantation. Darian felt the illusion magic begin to take hold as his eyes started to shut on their own. As his mind embraced oblivion and began to sleep against his will he shuddered slightly, and then there was nothingness.</span>
</p>
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